Why?
by Silwyna
Summary: When John finds out who or what really killed his wife, he does something he will regret for the rest of his life. PreSeries


**_A few days ago I read the story "Letting Go" from magicletters on her LJ site. I was in a weird mood that day and her story inspired me to write this. Blame my plot bunnies ... they simply wouldn't leave me alone with this. ;o)  
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**_Thanks to __kaz2y567i _****_for beta reading this. All mistakes are mine._**

_D__isclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. The characters and the universe of Supernatural do not belong to me. I make no profit from this story._

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**Why**

**from Silwyna**

Incredulously John Winchester stared at the papers in front of him. It had taken him years to collect this information, and only in the past few months had he found concrete evidence to understand what had happened that night 8 years ago. And today he had finally found the last missing piece of evidence.

A demon.

A demon had taken his wife and destroyed his family.

Why?

He kept asking himself that question again and again. He had tried to find an answer when a four year old Dean had questioned him, before he had fallen silent for months. He had tried to explain to a six year old Sam why his mother wasn't there. Why they didn't live in one place for longer than a few weeks; half a year tops. Why they were using different names all the time. Why they never celebrated Christmas or Thanksgiving. Or why in some years their birthdays weren't as important as in others. Because John had forgotten them. But he couldn't tell that to his sons.

He never had answers to all those questions.

And now he finally did. And somehow he wished he had never found out.

A demon.

A demon who was after his youngest son.

And Mary had only been in the way.

He drowned what must have been his tenth glass of tequila. He could have had more. The words on the papers in front of him had started to blur a while ago. It didn't matter. He knew what they said. What they proved.

It hadn't been a coincidence. The demon had been there for Sam.

He poured himself another glass and downed it in one swig. He was filled with anger.

Why?

They had been so happy. Mary and Dean and he. And Sammy.

Now it was all gone. And there was nothing left but anger.

Letting out a frustrated groan, John raked his hands through his hair. He grabbed for the bottle of Tequila only to discover that it was empty.

"Damn." He growled. He swayed slightly when he stood up and stumbled into the kitchen. He searched the kitchen cabinets for something more to drink, when suddenly a blinding light send a stab of pain through his head.

"Damn it!" He hissed and his head jerked up, only to impact with one of the shelves. "Shit."

His hand went to his head and he turned around to discover the source of the light. And there he was. His youngest son, looking startled at his father, the hand still on the light switch.

"You okay, Dad?" He asked quietly, his voice still filled with sleep.

John only stared at him.

The demon had come for Sam.

"Dad?"

"Why … ?" He wanted to ask why Sam was up, what he was doing here in the middle of the night when John had believed he was safe from the eyes of his children. But the words stuck in his mouth. Why? The question he had tried for so long to answer. And now he finally could.

The demon had come for Sam.

"I just wanted to get a glass of water. I couldn't sleep."

A nightmare. John knew it was a nightmare that must have woken his youngest. Sammy always had nightmares.

The demon had come for Sam.

He felt another wave of anger surge through him and before he could stop it he felt this anger turned on his son.

The demon had come for Sam!

If it hadn't been for him, Mary would still be with them. They would still have a life.

He watched how Sam slowly walked to the kitchen sink and filled water in a glass. Such a simple motion, but it filled him with so much anger the longer he watched his son. A fury rose inside of him that threatened to overwhelm him.

The demon had come for Sam.

Mary had died because of Sam.

If Sam hadn't been born, Mary would still be alive.

And in that moment John forgot the love he felt for his son and he lunged forward and grabbed Sam's arm. He held him tightly, shaking him roughly.

"Why?" He hissed.

Sam stared at him with wide, confused and fear-filled eyes. "Dad?"

All that John saw was the fear he had seen in Mary's eyes that night and it was too much. He wanted to erase that image from his mind. He never wanted to see this kind of fear ever again. He raised his hand and punched Sam in the face. Over and over again.

"Daddy, stop. You're hurting me. Dad!" Sam tried to hold his hands up to protect his head, but it didn't help. "Dad … Dean. DEAN!"

John heard Sam's screams but he didn't understand the words. He only heard the pain and fear and terror dripping from his voice, just like he had heard Mary that night. And he wanted it to stop.

He shook Sam heavily. "Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He screamed.

And Sam fell quiet in an instant and this quiet was even worse then the screams from before. With a heavy push, John shoved his boy against the kitchen cupboard. The wood splintered at the impact of Sam's small body falling against it.

"DAD!"

John jerked around, ready to take everything and everyone that dared going against him. And met the unbelieving, angry eyes of his oldest son.

"What are you doing?" Dean screamed at him as he hurried to Sam's side.

The younger boy lay motionless on the floor, his face bleeding from several wounds.

"Sammy? Talk to me, Sammy." Dean spoke in an agitated voice as he gently tried to get his little brother to open his eyes and tell him that he was all right. Only he did look far from all right. "Sammy, come on man, you're scaring the shit out of me."

Sam didn't move. His eyes stayed close and blood dripped on the floor from a gash on his forehead. Blood was coming out of his nose and he had a split lip that was also bleeding. His face had lost all color.

"Dad, do something!" Dean glared at his father with anguish in his eyes.

John remained frozen where he was. He stared at his sons on the ground, one of them bleeding and motionless, the other busy trying to tend to his little brother's wounds. His chest tightened when he realized what he had done. He had hurt his son. His little boy …

"DAD!"

His son's yell pulled John out of his daze and he quickly moved to the opposite wall and grabbed the phone. With shaky hands he called 911 and in a still slurring voice told the operator what had happened. Or at least the version they would pretend had happened.

"He's not waking up, Dad."

John looked back to Dean and Sam and suddenly felt the bile rise in his throat. With two wide steps he was back at the sink. He threw up the meager contents of his stomach before he sank down on his knees. After taking a few deep breaths he looked back at his sons. He had to take his eyes away again after a moment when he saw the disappointment and shame mirroring in Dean's eyes.

God, what kind of person had he become?

The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance, getting louder as they approached their destination. John didn't know if he should be relieved or not. How was he supposed to explain all this?

XXXXXXX

As it turned out, John didn't have to explain anything. Dean took care of it.

"We were playing cops and robbers. I ... I was the robber and Sammy tried to arrest me and then I pushed him ... I didn't mean to push that hard, really. And then he was just lying there." Dean spoke quietly, a sob disrupting his speech every now and then.

"And how do you explain the bruises on your brother's face?" The Police Officer asked him quietly. He glanced suspiciously at John who was standing a few feet away.

Dean's face went blank for a moment. John knew that expression. His son didn't have an explanation and he was trying to come up with something. Dean was a better liar than even John. Most of the days John was proud of him for that. Today he was ashamed for raising his son like this. He made a step forward to stop Dean from saying anything else. It was time to tell the truth. But before he could say anything, Dean spoke up again.

"That was me too." He whispered, his head bowed down. "I ... I saw this movie the other day. There was this guy ... and he was doing these movies, like Karate, you know? And I ... I wanted to try that too." He looked up again and shot a desperate look at the Police Officer. "I didn't mean to hurt Sammy." Tears were rolling down his face and he looked miserable.

John could see clearly how the Officer's heart broke at the sight of the sobbing and crying boy in front of him.

"Where was your father during all that?" The Officer asked calmly after Dean seemed to have calmed down a bit.

Dean swallowed. "The living room. He ... He had been drinking." Dean spoke quietly and John froze. "He ... it's my parent's anniversary today. And ... my mom is dead, you know." His voice was barely audible at the end.

John caught his breath at those words. He leaned back against the wall. He wasn't sure his legs would hold him much longer.

"I'm sorry, son." The Police Officer said quietly and sympathetically patted Dean's leg.

John saw Dean twitch slightly at his words. He hated being called "son" by anyone else than his father.

"My Dad ... these days are always hard for him, you know? He ... he tried not to let it show during the day. And I ... I didn't even remember at first." Dean glanced guiltily at the Officer. "He send us to bed early and I was angry. So Sam and I sneaked out at night and ... and played cop and robbers." Another tear rolled down his face and he wiped it away quickly. "My Dad had fallen asleep. He didn't hear us until Sammy fell and I screamed for him. He was there in an instant and called the ambulance and took care of Sammy. I just stood there ..." His voice broke and his eyes fell down on his hands again. "I'm sorry." His voice hitched at the words.

"It's all right, son." The Officer again tried to calm the boy. "Children get hurt while playing all the time. You didn't mean to hurt your brother, right?"

"No, Sir." Dean's head had jerked up and he looked at the Officer in all earnest. He suddenly looked a lot older than his 12 years. "I would never hurt Sammy."

"I believe you. Next time you two are playing, remember that your brother isn't invincible and that you two need to be careful, okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

The Officer nodded and patted Dean's leg one last time. "I hope your brother will be all right."

"Me too." Dean whispered.

John waited for the Officer to leave before he dared to move closer to his son.

"You didn't have to do that, Dean." He said quietly.

Dean glanced at him coldly. "Yes, I did. You're all we have. If they had arrested you for child abuse, child services would have taken Sammy and me. We would have been separated. I won't let that happen."

_Child abuse. _

The words stung. He had abused his son. "Dean, I'm sorry." John spoke in a hoarse voice.

Dean only glared at him, anger and disappointment still visible in his eyes.

"It won't happen again." John vowed. He hoped Dean would believe him. He hoped he wasn't lying.

XXXXXXX

A few hours later Dean and John sat beside Sam's bed, both of them waiting for the youngest member of their family to wake up.

The doctor had explained Sam's injuries to them. A slight concussion, a fractured rib, several bumps and bruises. One bad cut on the back of his head from the impact with the closet. It had needed four stitches.

It was nothing life threatening. His condition was stable. Now he only needed to wake up. After Dean's question why that was taking so long, the doctor had answered that after a trauma like this it was normal for the body to take the rest it needed.

_Trauma._

Another word that would haunt him forever.

John was close to crawling up the walls after hours of waiting, when Sam finally showed signs of waking up. Immediately he pushed his killer headache, an effect of his overuse of tequila, away and took Sam's hand in his. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean doing the same.

"Sammy?" His son beat him to call for Sam to help him wake up. Dean repeated his brother's name a few times until finally Sam's eyes fluttered open. Confused eyes looked up at John and Dean.

"Dad?"

"Sammy." John let out a relieved breath. "I'm so sorry, son."

Sam's eyes went from his father to his big brother as if he needed reassurance that it was okay to feel safe. It killed John to see that look in his youngest eyes. It was a look he had seen directed at his oldest too many times, but never had he been the reason for that.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean squeezed his little brother's hand and smiled at him encouragingly. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you, remember?"

"Yeah." Sam returned the smile gratefully. Then he turned uncertain and questioning eyes back at his father.

"Dad, why ... what did I do?" He asked quietly, his voice almost inaudible.

John nearly gasped in surprise. "What? Sammy, you didn't do anything. Son ..." His hand went to stroke through Sam's too long hair and his heart splintered in thousand little pieces when he saw his son slightly flinch away from him. He quickly retreated his hand. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should have never ... you didn't do anything to deserve this. You did nothing wrong. It was just ... I was ...I was drunk and I ... I didn't know what I was doing. I'm so sorry." His voice hitched and he felt tears brimming in his eyes. A single tear escaped and rolled down his cheek.

Sam looked at him astounded. After a moment, he slowly grasped his father's hand with his little fingers and gave it a slight squeeze. "It's okay, Daddy. It was just the stupid alcohol."

John looked surprised at his son. "What?" He couldn't believe that Sam would just forgive him like this. He could have easily killed him today. Oh god ... The thought alone made the bile rise up in his throat again.

"Dean explained it all. The alcohol and all that. It's not your fault." Sam said in an earnest voice.

"Dean explained ... what?" John looked at his oldest confused.

"I explained to him that sometimes ..." Dean swallowed. "Sometimes the alcohol you drink is bad without you knowing about it. And that makes you forget things. Like Sammy's first day in school." Dean glared at him accusingly. "Or birthdays and other holidays. Or it makes you confuse things. Like tonight. You said you thought Sammy was a Rawhead, right? That it was trying to take us?"

John swallowed and stared at his oldest incredulously.

"Really, Daddy? You thought I was a Rawhead?" Something similar to pride and awe sounded in Sam's voice. "And you just went ahead and attacked it to protect us? You didn't even had a tazer with you."

John looked down at Sam and met wide, astounded eyes. Sam looked at him like he was admiring his courage.

"Sam, I didn't ..."

"Yeah, Dad is a real hero." Dean said, the bitterness in his voice only audible for John. "He would take on everything to protect us."

"I have two heroes then." Sam smiled proudly. He looked from his Dad to Dean.

"Yeah." Dean replied in a hoarse voice.

John cleared his throat. "Well, I better get the doctor now. He will want to know that you decided to wake up." He patted Sam's hand before he stood up. He had just read the door when his youngest son's voice stopped him.

"I'll never want to drink alcohol, Dean. I don't want to forget things. Or mix up people with Rawheads." Sam had spoken quietly with his brother, but John could still hear every word. "Is it okay if I never drink any alcohol, Dean?"

"Absolutely okay, Sammy. You don't have to do anything you don't want to." Dean assured his little brother.

"That's good." Sam exhaled in relief.

John closed his eyes and let his head rest against the door for a moment. He swore to himself that he would never get drunk at home ever again. And he vowed that he would never raise a hand against his sons again.

John held his first promise until the day he died. He always made sure to stay away from wherever they were staying when he felt the need to get drunk. He would spend the night in the car and only return when he was sober again.

He broke his second promise ten years later when his youngest son told him he would leave them for Stanford.

The end.


End file.
